Pronouns are my friends

I, we, they; it. All have worked my way into my sentences lately. Pronouns are my friends. It’s not that I’m ashamed or embarrassed to have Elizabeth as a girlfriend. Uh…girlfriend? That takes on a whole new meaning for me. It’s just that I’m scared of what people will think of me and how they will react and judge me. Or maybe I’m scared of me? Where am I headed? Damn, why do I like her so much?
For instance, when I get roses at work; they are signed,”E”. Now, I let people at work think what they like.
“Oh, so who is this ‘E’?,”one of my peers asked.
So I said,”Oh, it is the person I am seeing. They are great,” I say before I knew what what is coming out of my mouth.
“The person? They?” he responded. “Well, he is very lucky and he knows how to treat a gal,” he said.
But at no time did I tell him that ‘E’ was a girl. Is that wrong?
I told one of my friends out of work that I was seeing a girl, “Ruby, you are the straightest person I know,” she responded. “You must be kidding. There is no way. You are confused and this thing is a phase and a friendship. Have you thought about getting back together with…”
No. This is more than a friendship, but I just don’t know how to tell someone that mostly because it seems that most people don’t believe me. I say most.
I had to talk to Cindy, dare I say my ex-….friend. Not really, but she gets me.
“No fucking way. I knew it” she declares. “High school. I had you pegged,” she says.
“All right. Shut up,” I say. “What the fuck is this? I hate myself. I can’t tell anyone who I am or what I’m going through. Its awful and great at the same time. Its like I have a secret I’ve been keeping from everyone for years and years and didn’t know about it. This isn’t the way I felt in high school.”
“Maybe,” Cindy started. “Maybe, just, maybe that’s what you have been doing?But, and I hate to say it, because I’m fantastic, BUT, I wasn’t right and she is.”
“Maybe,” I started. “Maybe, I’m just over-analyzing this whole mess like I always do and I should end it all,” I said.
“Is that what you really want?” she asked.
“No and yes. I don’t know. It’s like I don’t know what I am or want anymore. One minute I’m wanting something stable and the next moment I’m in the most unstable relationship I could be in. Right?” I asked.
” Ruby,” Cindy said. “What is unstable about this? Because it’s a girl? That’s bullshit.”
“You’re right. I’m afraid of nothing or something. Why can’t I tell people? I think my employer will fire me and my friends will hate me and my family will disown me? I hate this.”
“Welcome to my world,” Cindy said.
“What happened to my pronoun use. I liked using he and she,” I said. – Ruby

Auf Weidersehen Doubt

Here I sit in an armchair in my hotel room at Hotel Savoy in Munich, feet up on the windowsill, coffee in one hand, wearing nothing but a merlot shade of toenail polish. It has been an amazing two weeks and I am learning so much about the world and my role within it.

Gemma and I made our way through Eastern Europe; gluvine in Prague, Sacher Torte and underground dance clubs in Vienna. There was the beautiful, sunny day when I felt the inexplicable, dark, silent pain which one can experience only when visiting Auschwitz-Birkenau. Four days ago she and I sat on the bank of the Spree River in front of the Berlin Wall’s East Side Gallery before we both headed to the airport; she to catch a flight home and I to rent a car and begin my Autobahn adventure. She could tell my mind was drifting…

Gemma: “Are you sure you can drive manually down the Autobahn if I give you a 15 minute crash course?”

Frankie: “Perhaps this isn’t the best idea, I should really spring for the automatic. Cooper tried teaching me when I was last in Brissy (or Brisbane, Australia).” [Smiling at the memory] “I didn’t do so well.” [Smile Fading]

Gemma: “Don’t do it Frankie.” [softly shaking her head]

Frankie: “What…don’t do what??” [nervously laughing]

Gemma: “You did the right thing…leaving him. It would have only become more severe if you returned to Brisbane.”

Frankie: “Fine, point taken. You have to stop or I am going to cry.” [Too late as tears begin to stream]

Gemma: “There shouldn’t have been a first time. He should have never raised a hand to you!! You said the first time was a jab to the ribs…and then the second…harder than that first punch. If you didn’t break it off then there would have been a ninth, sixteenth and then one day, you know what would happen one day. And then of course, I would have to avenge you by killing him.”

Frankie: [Wiping away the tears] “I know, thanks Gemma. Thank you for being such a great friend. And it is so comforting to know that I can enlist you as a hit woman!” [Now we were both laughing]

Truly…I felt free, so free. After seeing region after region where inhumane acts and crimes imprisoned so many for so many years, I felt grateful. Grateful for my personal freedom; freedom to control this life–leave when I want, and know that I will fight for that which I deserve.

I now look over at the bed where James’ rests, so peaceful and beautiful, and know that this is the perfect ending to my European adventure. My flight to London leaves later today and I will spend the evening with an old college friend before returning to NYC.

James rolls over and sleepily asks me to return to bed, in that thick, masculine accent. I slide into his arms; strong, solid warm embrace. His body molds to my form and we slide into a cozy, warm slumber. –Frankie

Playing Doctor

It has been three weeks since I was traveling around Europe and there is no way this is happening. I left only for three weeks and so much has changed. Prior to seeing The Vegemite Tales, which was showing in Piccadilly Circus during my final night in London, I received a call from my mother telling me that Grandma’s upper respiratory infection was much more serious. The mass was malignant and acting as a valve, restricting airflow through her bronchial tube; I was told that we would explore our options upon my return, though my mother couldn’t bring herself to tell Grandma alone and only my presence would do.

It has been three weeks and we are now living in the private rental living quarters of Roosevelt Hospital, which is located in Hell’s Kitchen. Ruby is the most wonderful friend and roommate a girl could ever have. Recognizing the strain that a commute from Grandma’s home in Staten Island would take on us three, Ruby offered to stay with Elizabeth while we sought treatment. Elizabeth wouldn’t mind, as she is a warm, considerate woman and I could see the love in her eyes when she looked at Ruby. I declined the offer; Grandma always provided for her family well beyond her obligation. Truly the matriarch, she married a rotten, adulterous man, raised two ungrateful children and then accepted responsibility as my maternal figure following my parents’ divorce. She is my idol in every way, embodying the rare combination of strength, grace and diplomacy. The mold was definitely broken after she was made. I owed her at least the comfort of a $600/night hotel style hospital room.

It has been three weeks and following a two week holiday from work, I am forced to take family medical leave. My publisher has been nothing but understanding, and there is no way I could ever focus on my work and care for Grandma, though the layoffs within the publishing industry continue and I am frightened. Each day while watching the news and checking Gawker, I hear reports of publication upon publication folding or industry wide employee dismissals, and in this economy a manager’s understanding must have its limits. My life is spinning out of control and there is solace nowhere; perhaps I will read The Alchemist again, as there must be something helpful in there!

It has been three weeks and Grandma has not lost her sense of humor, as I discovered one day in the hospital, while flipping through photos from my European adventure. “Oh Frankie,” she said, “what hunks these doctors are.” her thick New York accent one of the few that I find endearing and melodious. “Yes, Frankie”, my mother chimes in, “You could probably find a wealthy, handsome young Dr. McDreamy to take care of you.” So she offends me by suggesting that I am not capable of caring for myself, treat that which I consider a sacred bond by pursuing a life with someone for anything other than mutual love, my education was a waste and finally referencing Grey’s Anatomy; she knows that I can’t stand today’s mundane television programming. Such a statement is typical of this woman who has served as a younger sister to me, while Grandma acted as mother. As if perfectly scripted ABC programming, a young resident enters the room. I can’t use the adjective handsome, as this would not suffice to describe how attractive I find him. Mom compares him to J.F.K. Jr, though J.F.K Jr. never made the three of us gasp and hold our breath in unison. Brief introduction and he begins taking Grandma’s blood, making jokes and conversation. He asks about the photos and quips, “It must be nice to travel through Europe”, to which I reply in the affirmative. He adds quickly, “Yes, especially if someone else pays for the journey.” Was he listening at the door?! With a smirk, I reply “I pay my own way and need not rely on others to attain my heart’s desire.” He smiles and tells us that he will return in a bit. Once he leaves Grandma exclaims, “They just keep getting’ bettah and bettah”! “Yes, Grandma”, I agree and giggle. She is always a woman after my own heart. –Frankie

Give Me Something To Believe In

I woke last Friday to find Ruby sitting on the couch, watching the morning news, and joined her after pouring a massive cup of black coffee. We sat and discussed the events of the evening prior. I knew that Ruby had hooked up with girls in the past and if she found one who could treat her in the manner which she deserves, then who cares if they did not include certain equipment; certainly not I. After offering my blessing for much love, hot sex, and a mutual agreement designating the couch as a no fly zone, I was off to begin my day.

I had so many issues to address before leaving on my flight to Berlin that evening. I submitted my absentee ballot a few weeks ago, now had to pack, and take my grandmother to the doctor. She has been coughing quite a bit lately; I thought it was simply an upper respiratory infection, though she could probably use something stronger than Robutussin. The doctor suggests viewing the lung via bronchoscopy; though this must take place while I am away…I guess mom can take her. “Well”, begins Dr. McStupid, “Ms. McNiff, your grandmother is probably fine; this is simply a precautionary measure. Not a thing to worry about.” She smiled up at me and I couldn’t help but return a toothy grin. I brought her home, “Now Grandma, no wild parties with naughty men while I am away!”, I joked. “Oh ya damn fool, none of them are no damn good anyway!”, she replied, laughing. I put my hand on her left cheek and kissed her right, grabbed my suitcase and told her that I would return with gifts and captivating tales from across the pond. I bid adieu to my biggest fan and left for JFK.

One to never shy away from travel, I decided to take this business trip to the next level. My publication was hosting our Seventh Annual International Innovative Architecture & Design Forum beginning Saturday and ending Tuesday evening with our Avant-Garde Ball, during which, we honored the most innovative artists of the industry. Though of course, I couldn’t stop there…I had to meet my Aussie friend Gemma for a naughty holiday and planned to extend my stay in Europe for an additional two weeks; partying jet-setter style. We stayed two evenings at Lux Eleven, located in the middle of Berlin and fine, perhaps a bit posh, though we are worth it.

Tuesday was incredibly exciting and action packed. Our event was a success and Gemma was grateful that I brought her as my date and partner in crime. Though the number of available men at this function was limited, I am a loyal friend and will share the spoils with my dearest. As Gemma chatted up a handsome Brazilian dude, I waited at the bar for a second tasty martini. Turning to make my way to my friend, I froze in place as I was met by one of the more beautiful sights of the evening. “Good evening beautiful.” said the tall, brown haired gentleman with the Aussie accent and piercing blue eyes that rivaled the waters which surround Grand Turk. “Please allow me to introduce myself; the name is James…James Michaelson.” “Frances McNiff”, I replied, as he gently kissed my extended hand. Why did I not feel the need to refer to myself as Frankie? James and I walked around the ballroom of the Hotel Adlon and for a moment I forgot that I was working and had to return to my duties. I explained that I wanted to check the status of the election at home after the event ended. He expressed interest in this as well and we agreed to meet under the Brandenburg Gate then head over to Potsdamer Platz in search of a bar with a television.

The moment I wished the final guests goodnight, signed necessary paperwork and found Gemma we walked over the Brandenburg Gate; seems that she suggested the same meeting place to her man from Ipanema. Our quartet failed in our mission to find a bar where we would have access to any progress of the U.S. election, though we did manage to find an amazing lounge along the perimeter of the square–it was too early for anything important to be revealed, therefore we did the only reasonable thing we could do–become better acquainted with our respective men.

I told James that I would drive along the Autobahn down to Munich in a week or so and he revealed that he would travel down around the same time as well to visit some friends from college. After discussing James’ plans to move to London from Melbourne for two years and my life in New York, we shared a sweet, butterfly arousing kiss. He and Joao walked Gemma and I to our hotel, in the early twilight hours as people began gathering outside of the bars, which we overlooked earlier during our search. Amazingly, these people were Obama/Biden supporters CELEBRATING in Berlin! What a great moment to be an American, an American traveling abroad…to again be proud…and hopeful. In a land where it was said that the “rubble women” rebuilt their beloved and broken city brick by brick following World War II, I stood in a square with friends, strangers, though all with a common hope for a brighter future, much brighter than when we woke this morning. In this group, a group of travelers from around the globe, local Berliners and Americans we shared this hope; it is in this hope that we all believe. James took me in his arms and as he clutched me to his body swinging me around whispered, “Congratulations Frances”.

As I now look out the window of the bus, listening to The Killers’ “All These Things That I’ve Done”, I take in the German landscape and consider how much can change in only one week…change I can believe in. -Frankie

Caught up in the moment

So, as promised, Elizabeth called and we got together for drinks. I met her at Olives. She looked gorgeous. Her hair had grown out a little, she had lost weight, and she was dressed in an Armani suit. I had the weirdest and yet comforting and exciting sensation of feeling like I was seeing a good friend and a on a date all in once.

We snagged a couch in the joint and sipped martinis while we caught up. I told her about all of the interesting dates I had been on and about my current love affair with an everlasting pint of chunky monkey and she shared some of her experiences. Wall Street was not doing so hot and as an investment banker times were tough. So far, her career had been spared although many of her friends had not been so lucky. She was highly nervous that her sexuality might be discovered at work and that it could threaten her career, as a woman working in a “man’s” business.

I could somewhat relate, I said, considering I work with mostly men that stare at my breasts whenever I propose an idea, they ask me for anything, or I am interviewing a person for an article. Elizabeth assured me that it was OK because if I worked with her she would stare at my breasts all day too.

I blushed even more as the night progressed and found myself returning into that curiosity surrounding forbidden territory of girl-on-girl action.

Needless to say Elizabeth slept over that night, and I was caught in action by none other than my dear, and quite shocked, roommate Frankie.

We were kissing on the couch and watching Poison Ivy on Lifetime. We were down to our bras and undies and I had just pinned Elizabeth underneath me when the door opened and there was Frankie bringing a hottie home.

“Uh, honey I’m home?” Frankie said.

Elizabeth tried to draw herself toward me to cover herself and me up while I tried to jump off of her to act like being on top of a girl on the couch was the most natural thing in the world. “Hey, hey, yeah…”was my response exactly I believe. I looked at Elizabeth and then at Frankie, who both seemed to be waiting for an explanation.

“Yes! Fuck Yes! let’s do a foursome!” said Frankie’s Keanu Reeve’s look-a-like.

Then I did something that I normally wouldn’t do. I smacked him across the face. “Idiot. She is with me,” I grabbed Elizabeth’s hand and she followed me into my room. “Sorry for bruising your date, Frankie,” I said.

“Uh, I don’t fuck faggots,” he replied.

Slap. Then Frankie slapped him hard. “Listen asshole, I thought you were cool, but your not so I’m going to go have lesbian sex with my girlfriends, and you are not invited. Get out!” she yelled while pushing him out the door and slamming it.

“Wow,” I said and hugged Frankie. “I’m sorry. I’m like naked and ruined your evening.”

“Whatever, I’ve seen it all. I’m your roommate,” she replied someone in shock. “And you are?”

“Frankie, this is Elizabeth…” I started.

“Oh right, that’s right. I remember,” she lied.”OK. Well have fun girls. I’m going to bed. Ruby, brunch at noon. Meet me in the kitchen.” - Ruby

MY Shoes Are Made For Walkin’

Here I stand, just ’round the corner from Lehman Brothers, waiting to meet some friends for happy hour. Fine–it has been a difficult, tumultuous few weeks, though does that grant people license to say and do whatever they feel when they don’t have anything to lose?

I am looking around, as not to miss my friends if they walk by and a much older, greasy, obviously married man stops to begin my next session of torture.

Greezy Plump Dude: Hey, you look lost.

Frankie: [Obviously not interested in ANYTHING] No, just waiting for friends, thanks.

Greezy Plump Dude: Do you think I could get your card?

Frankie: I don’t have a card. (I thought he would take a hint).

Greezy Plump Dude: Well, let me give you my card; will you contact me if I give you my card?

Frankie: My apologies, I am flattered, though I am seeing someone (Lying, to save myself).

Greezy Plump Dude: Oh, well, how old is he? How old are you?

Frankie: Twenty-eight; why?

Greezy Plump Dude: (Snickering) Well, perhaps I can take you shoe shopping?

Frankie: Sir, I need no one to take me shoe shopping. I am perfectly capable of paying my own bills, financing my own travel and shopping for my own shoes; watch as they walk away from you.

–Frankie

Fingers, Knees, and TOES!

This is becoming absolutely unacceptable. Last week I rescued Ruby from a date so horrid that she made her escape via a tiny bathroom window, not caring that she may be discovered…but hey, this is New York. I was ever so thankful that she elected me as accomplice to her flight from Fig & Olive, as I could swear that my date the same evening would have been considered torture in many totalitarian regimes.
I met Toetally Crazy on the train when he introduced himself one morning. We did see each other a few times and he finally worked up the nerve to begin a conversation with me before I drank my first cup of coffee (a.k.a. fuel). Following a few more morning conversations I realized that we had such a great rapport that my first cup could wait until the office and Toetally Crazy asked me out.

T. Crazy took me to Spice Market and the usual exchange of information ensued, i.e. Where were you raised? Do you have any siblings? What type of music do you enjoy? Do you have any piercings or tattoos?

I always try to choose my answer to that final question wisely. Feeling that only a select portion of the population should see how I accessorize, I coyly responded, “Well, it isn’t that easy; I am not going to tell you what type of piercings and tattoos I have, though I will say that I do have a few and I do love my toe rings.” His eyes wide with horror, T.Crazy exclaimed in a nervous tone, “UMMMM…toe rings?! Really? UMMM, well thankfully it being winter you will not wear them any time soon!” Of any type of adornment the man could have imagined or been focused upon, he was concerned with toe rings. I replied, “Actually, no, I wear them year round; I think they are pretty.” THIS man stared at me in horror, then ducked his head under the table to examine my knee high boots, coming up only to exclaim…”NOW?! You are wearing them now?! OK, that is fine…just fine…I can handle this.” ”HMMM…”, I thought, “toe rings freak him out; of all of the possible adornment type things…toe rings????” It was at this moment that our appetizers arrived. By the time our entrees were prepared, not many more words had been spoken…and…was he sweating??

“OK, I must ask,” he said in a commanding manner, “please, PLEASE, can you go into the bathroom and remove the toe rings?? I am extremely averse to the idea…the idea of [gasp] feet, and [groan] toes, and [heave] things placed…[heave] around…[gulp] TOES!!”

I stared at him blankly, having forgotten where I was and what was occurring. I was truly stunned and, for a moment, speechless. The beeping broke my trance; I read the text from Ruby and couldn’t understand, though knew that I must go. I must, first and foremost help my friend; secondly leave this lunatic behind. I began, “Well you need not worry about that; my roommate is in trouble and I must leave to help her. No worries, I will be leaving with everything that TOE-TALLY disgusts you. Thanks for a TOE-TALLY amazing evening.”

I left him sitting at the table, still sweating and made my way over to Fig & Olive. Walking past the tables I noticed an extremely attractive man sitting alone. Oh, an empty chair with a glass of wine beside the place setting. Oh well, his date must be in…the….OH! I could barely contain my laughter after walking into the bathroom, greeted by Ruby’s ass! All I could say was, “Dude. Must have been bad.” “Frankie, please just push me through,” she cried.

After meeting her outside, under the escape hatch, I explained why my response time was so rapid and suggested, “How about we pick up some Chunky Monkey and head to the salon for pedicures?” Ruby Toe-tally agreed-Frankie

A Fashionable escape

So this editor I met at Fashion Week asked me out for dinner. I met him backstage, and how I got backstage was purely an accident. As I was waiting in line for a press pass, an editor of a top style magazine decided I was so naive that she must culture me. I was way out of my league and couldn’t help feeling like Anne Hathaway’s character in The Devil Wears Prada. Being utterly shell shocked and surrounded by half-naked models dressing for a high profile men’s wear show. Mr Men’s mag editor approached me for a date.

I met Men’s mag editor at Fig n’ Olives. Upon my new agreement with Frankie, I had prepared a game plan. If Mr. Mag editor was not there when I arrived, I would turn around and leave immediately. If conversation got weird I would excuse myself to the bathroom and take off.

Mr. Mag editor was on time and looked stunning. We were seated by the door of the restaurant on the outside patio. Unfortunately, this defeated both my getaway ideas. Oh well, hope this works. I thought.

As we were scoping the menu, Mr. Men’s mag editor announced his intentions of ordering for me. “There are somethings you must try on this menu so I will take care of it all,” he said.

“Oh that’s ok. I can order for myself. I’m not a big fan of red meat…” I started to say.

“No. I’m telling you. You must try it. I’ve got you covered. Excuse me waiter. We will have…” he rattled off some order that included more red meat then I could believe.

Since Mr. Men’s Mag editor obviously had no intention of taking me out for something I wanted to eat. I decided I had to plan my escape. But how? I took a sip of my wine and excused myself to the bathroom.

In the bathroom I weighed my options.Luckily there was no one else in the bathroom. There was a window in the bathroom. It was one of those halfway up bathroom ceilings. Hmmm I thought. Now that would be perfect. I could get out from there and then I’d be on the side of the building and he would never see me leave. I climbed up on top of the toilet from stall no. 3 and opened the window.

“OK here goes,” I said. I tossed my small purse through and I boosted myself up and through the window easy except my butt was stuck. I pulled and pulled mortified I was dangling halfway through the window. I grabbed my phone and text-ed Frankie. Need help in girls bathroom fig n olives ASAP.

“Dude. Must have been bad, “said a voice from behind me through the wall where I was stuck.

“Frankie, please just push me through,” I cried.

Frankie did and then she met me in the side street. “God you are so funny,” Frankie said.

“How on earth did you?” I started to ask.

“I just got out of a god awful date at Spice Market, across the way. Your timing, couldn’t have been better!” she said. – Ruby

Never Take Candy From a Baby

Two weekends ago, while enjoying Tanqueray and Tonic with a nice burning hookah at Le Souk, my dear roommate and I agreed that we were way too extraordinary to continue on with a date if it was going terribly.

One week later and there I sat, in a taxi with Jeremy on our way to Sala One Nine and dancing at Sin Sin to follow. The cousin of a friend of my friend, Jeremy was two years my junior, though what the hell–the men who are my age are too…well…and those older guys are…well…they are ALL just insane! I knew this was going to be an evening to remember as soon as our conversation began.

Jeremy: “So, you like to party?”

Frankie: “Yes, absolutely! I am psyched to go out dancing after dinner; my friends and I are out and about quite a bit, dancing and enjoying good music.”

Jeremy: [Chuckling] “No, I think you misunderstood…Do you like to PARTY?” [Now gesturing toward his nose]

This was it–who did he think he was? Pablo Escobar?!?! This was the moment that Ruby and I discussed! I will never sit through another evening of unnecessary torture!

Frankie: “Look man, the only snow I enjoy is the type that sends me flying down Okemo Mountain on my skis.”

I jumped out of the taxi, which was stopped at a red light, turned, leaned in and before slamming the door to disaster, said, “I am way too old for babysitting; stay away from the candy kiddo”.

–Frankie

Never Take Candy From a Baby

Two weekends ago, while enjoying Tanqueray and Tonic with a nice burning hookah at Le Souk, my dear roommate and I agreed that we were way too extraordinary to continue on with a date if it was going terribly.

One week later and there I sat, in a taxi with Jeremy on our way to Sala One Nine and dancing at Sin Sin to follow. The cousin of a friend of my friend, Jeremy was two years my junior, though what the hell–the men who are my age are too…well…and those older guys are…well…they are ALL just insane! I knew this was going to be an evening to remember as soon as our conversation began.

Jeremy: “So, you like to party?”

Frankie: “Yes, absolutely! I am psyched to go out dancing after dinner; my friends and I are out and about quite a bit, dancing and enjoying good music.”

Jeremy: [Chuckling] “No, I think you misunderstood…Do you like to PARTY?” [Now gesturing toward his nose]

This was it–who did he think he was? Pablo Escobar?!?! This was the moment that Ruby and I discussed! I will never sit through another evening of unnecessary torture!

Frankie: “Look man, the only snow I enjoy is the type that sends me flying down Okemo Mountain on my skis.”

I jumped out of the taxi, which was stopped at a red light, turned, leaned in and before slamming the door to disaster, said, “I am way too old for babysitting; stay away from the candy kiddo”.

–Frankie

Another year; another bad date

That’s it I am officially in my late 20’s and another year closer to 30! My birthday party was a blast. Frankie and I hit Le Souk to drink, smoke hooka and watch some belly dancing. The two of us also dished about our latest disasters. You got it: Coffee guy is next on my list.

While how we met seemed very romantic our first date was long and incomplete. He called and asked me to meet him at a little cafe for lunch during the work week. So I showed up at set time and waited, ordered a coke, and waited, and then ordered a sandwich, and waited…. I was pissed. I had never been stood up for a date before. Sure I have had tons of bad dates, but to be stood up after our meeting. I was livid.

So I decided to be content with my sandwich and soda. His loss. Just as I was paying the bill, guess who showed up. “Sorry I am late. I was with a client. How’s about we do lunch now,” he said.

“Sorry I only get an hour. I couldn’t wait,” I said. “You could have called, but since you didn’t I figured you were a no show.”

“Well, I still think you are hot, so maybe I could meet you after work at your place,” he said.

“No way,” I said. “I have plans tonight. I don’t even know if you would show or be up to snuff.”

I grabbed my purse and I left.

After work on my way to change for Le Souk, I bumped into none other than Elisabeth. It was a tad awkward catching up with her, but nice at the same time.

“Hey gorgeous. Wait up,” she yelled out as I was hauling ass down the 5th.

“Oh hey.” She planted a kiss right on my lips and I was flustered. She looked amazing.

“It’s your birthday isn’t it?” she asked. “I know we haven’t spoken for awhile, but I would love to take you out for a birthday drink and catch up.”

“Uh, er, sure. I guess,” I said, blushing from ear to ear.

It’s funny how some dates work out and some don’t, even though you may really want them too. I really liked coffee guy, but he was a looser not showing up to the date. While Elisabeth who I had no intention of ever getting serious with was fantastic to me. The cosmos are definitely fucking with me.

While watching some belly dancing, I explained to Frankie my theory on dating.

“Within the first five minutes you pretty much know if you are really interested in the date or not,” I said.

“I think that’s about right,” she agreed.

“I’m so sick of wasting my time waiting for the date to be over. If in the first ten minutes I’m not into the dork I’m just going to get up and leave from now on,” I said.

“Are you for real?” Frankie asked, shocked.

“Absolutely.” I nodded and then sipped my cosmo.

Then, Frankie and I laid out a verbal agreement that our dating rules would become a little stricter this year. – Ruby

A Family Affair

It has been a few weeks since my little Caribbean adventure with Pamela. I now sat with Ruby and a few of our friends while enjoying a girlie, chai update chat at The Bean. My comrade and I had a great time on Grand Bahama; Hurricane Dolly was merely a threat and didn’t pack much of a punch. The sun, the sand, the scent…as he seduced me after leaving the dancehall, following yet another surreal evening. Our Caribbean holiday was amazing, well, until THAT morning; this may be my most outrageous tale yet.

After leaving the club, Matt and I returned to my room, allowing Pamela to explore the moonlit grounds of Our Lucaya with his friend Dean. We were one, tangled mass; as we had been on the way up the stairs, fumbling for the key at the door. I had to make a quick decision during the following mental whirlwind “…the last time was so long ago…oh the way he is touching me…I have never done this…his lips grazing my…I can’t help, OH…I vote…YES”! The next two hours are a blur, much like the moving bodies in the club; Matt and I were a perfectly unplanned, seductive dance; each moving with the other as if answering a question until doubt no longer existed.

Matt and I woke to find Pamela and Dean occupying the other bed, and quietly began to chat in whispers about anything and everything. This was perfect, so much better than I thought a fling should be. I knew that two days from now, we would board our flight and return to our other, real, lives-he in Philadelphia and I in NYC; though this, for the moment was sufficient. I asked if he was visiting with family or friends. “Family…well, like family you could say”, he responded. I was puzzled; what exactly did he mean by “…like family…”? Like Pamela and I are family? Or perhaps a family LIKEthis…

The confession went a little something LIKE this…

Matt: “I am here with my girlfriend.”

Frankie: [SHOCKED] “And where is she?”

Matt: “Upstairs sleeping…you see…I am here with her family. And Dean [still sleeping soundly next to Pamela], well, Dean is her brother. I am sorry.”

Too many thoughts were clogging my brain. Yell? Vomit? Headbutt?? I turned to him finally and replied, “I knew that this would be a fling, never once expecting cocker spaniel puppies and a white picket fence, though I did expected a consistent fling with a clean farewell, come Tuesday.”

To this statement, stupid, foolish Matt replied, “A fling?”, he asked sadly and apparently dumbfounded. “You thought this was only–a fling?”

“It was at that moment when I flung my fling out the door”, I said; finishing my unbelievable account. And it was at this moment when Ruby and my girls decided to move over to The Fat Black Pussycat and fling a few margaritas my way.

-Frankie

A morning jog

While Frankie was basking in the sun, I was on a sunny mission of my own. I had decided that now was the best time to get in shape. So I decided to try running first thing in the morning. For the first two days I slept right through my alarm (I have to admit). Then on the third day I got up, threw my workout garb on and took to the street. I got caught up in my huffing and puffing until I ran straight into a stranger’s dog leash that seemed to come out of no where. I went flying face first to the ground and might have hurt myself if the man with the dog hadn’t dove down to catch me.

He was very apologetic and tre cute. I finished up my run by having a Starbucks coffee with someone it seems I had already accidentally fallen for. –Ruby

Dancehall Desire

I have been trying to keep a low profile following the reappearance of my stalker a few weeks ago. When my cousin, Pamela, asked me to join her in the Bahamas, I knew that I could not decline–”ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK!”, I thought. Not only would she like me to accompany her to the Caribbean, but all expenses are paid, as Pamela’s manager is unable to attend the firm annual executive ”working holiday” (rare during these days of corporate crumble)…instead sending the Debutantes of Debauchery. Hurricane season is upon us, though Dolly has nothing on Pamela and I; Grand Bahama will never be the same!

I sit here on our balcony overlooking the Atlantic, sipping a Bloody Mary basking in the morning sun, reflecting on last evening’s events. It all began with a welcome dinner, where we quickly grew tired of the sad efforts of the older, married, corporate officers attempting to woo one or both of us into bed. I am neither down with O.P.P nor sugar daddies, therefore we befriended the few members of the single (seemingly), younger set and headed from the grounds of beautiful Our Lucaya, into town…TO THE DANCEHALL.

Standing approximately six feet tall with blonde hair and blue eyes Matt, is that rare combination of adorable and sexy, though does not fall under my typical preference. He bought me a drink and we hit the dance floor. Initially, he was about as comfortable as a Red Sox fan at Yankees Stadium, though after some…ahem…guidance, he settled into the rhythm of the reggae and the sensual atmosphere of the club. This was truly a seductive scene; couples melting into one another to the beat of Tanto Metro and Devonte’s “Give it To Her“. It wasn’t the tropical climate which made this atmosphere dreamlike, it was the mystical wave of Caribbean beats. I felt intoxicated as he moved with me, front to back, his hand on my waist and my arm around his neck, reaching down to brush his lips against mine…

“Hey, Frankie!”, yells Pamela from the door of our suite, snapping me out of my lust induced trance, “ready to go down to the pool?”

“Sure”, I reply, “I definitely need a cool down.”

–Frankie

Fantasy Fun

It’s my birthday soon! AHHHHH! I’m almost 30! Double AHHHH! I think I’m severely scared of turning into Bridget Jones. I won’t scream again. No worries.

My problem. I really enjoy being single and independent. Plus, most of the guys I’ve dated are more of a disaster than I am.

Perhaps I’m just trying to justify the most satisfying romp I’ve had in a while. It was non-committal and most certainly a one-night-stand. It was down at the NJ shore at Point Pleasant. I was out with friends at Jenkinson’s and the bunch of us decided it would be fun to crack out our bathing suits and go night swimming with some of the guys we had just met there. I had met this dreamy Italian, direct from Italy, who was staying with a friend of his. We hit the shore and the water was chilly, but the Italian Stallion kept me warm as we were wading in.

Well the Italian stallion was too hard to resist and a lot of fun. Needless to say there was no sleeping that weekend. I’ve sent the Italian stallion back to his home country with a smile and a little more to talk about then the pizza. Plus, I’ve fulfilled a romp on the beach fantasy. Let’s face it, it’s a shame if you don’t fulfill some of your naughty little sexual fantasies. Now I’ve had my zipless fuck.

So Frankie and I are planning a birthday outing. We have been contemplating the best way to take on the city in style and perhaps meet a couple of nice guys while we are at it. If not no big deal. We are checking out New York Mag’s Best of 2008’s for ideas. Any suggestions? - Ruby

Pest from the Past

I was looking forward to an amazing birthday evening with friends, which I did manage to enjoy. A bit hungover the next morning, I received a massive arrangement of flowers and huge box of Godiva chocolate accompanied by a note reading only,

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

THINKING OF YOU

-ME

“Oh how sweet”, I thought, “Cooper sent flowers.”

Though we were no longer dating, the relationship between my ex, Cooper Bogues, and I remains civil, we still speak and do want only good things for each other. Cooper lived on the other side of the world and such a long distance relationship was no longer something which I could bear. Though we now had a successful platonic relationship, this birthday floral arrangement was a bit much; and though the Aussie dollar has made quite a gain against the US greenback, it still must have cost him quite a pretty penny…wait, the Aussies removed pennies from circulation; OK, FINE–a pretty ten cent piece! I sent an email thanking him, though he never responded. Did he send the arrangement? Curiosity really was eating away at me, I just HAD to know.

I rang the florist and much to my dismay, they could not reveal the sender’s identity, as they requested to remain anonymous. Despite her legal obligation to her client, the florist wanted me to guess, as she thought the gesture was terribly sweet….little did either of us know how terrible.

“Well, could you please tell me if the order was placed internationally or locally?”, I asked.

“It was local. If you say a name, I can hint.”, she replied. I responded by rattling off a few names of my most recent almost lovers, none of whom were the sender. “Oh no, it couldn’t be”, I thought, as fear welled inside, memories of my other ex or the ex-boyfriend-turned-crazed psycho stalker and the story of Kitty Genovese replayed in my head. Four years had passed, could it be??? “Ralph Puglia?” I ask, nervously.

Excitedly the florist responds, “I think you are HOT!”

Great–the stalker returns.

–Frankie

Pride Penis Party

I celebrated Gay pride with some dear friends yesterday. Gay men are officially the cutest. I love Gay Pride because its the only day we see the hottest men in the city take to the streets. OK so they aren’t interested in me, but they are fun to watch and to dance with.

We were at this fabulous bar yesterday called Gaybill or more widely known as Cowgirl Cafe. I was having a great time with some friends when I met this Cutie pie with dark hair, a gorgeous smile, and buff body. He seemed to be actually flirting with me. Was I mistaken? I figured I was.

I asked him where his boyfriend was, and he said he had just broken up with his girlfriend and was out with his roommate, who happened to be gay. Now that was intriguing. Gaybills turned into a dance floor so All of us hit it and me with Cutie Pie. But the place was packed and I wound up in the middle of a grind pit. Now I’m a fan of being pressed up against a sexy man, but not about 12.

I felt like the girl in Night at the Roxbury, being bounced between two guys.


Funny thing is Cutie Pie seemed to be enjoying bashing his pelvis into not only me, but into some other men dancing around us. After a while he seemed up close a personal with one particular fellow I myself wouldn’t have minded hooking up with. I figured the meat on meat market was probably his forte at that point. - Ruby

Fire Extinguisher

Firefighter Joe and I finally decided, on Friday, to go out for drinks. Ruby nonchalantly passed the window after he pulled up to the building; nice car–Mitsubishi Eclipse Spyder, though not coming up, just a telephone ring to make me aware that he was waiting downstairs. Ruby tells me I look fabulous and promises to meet us at SNAFU in a few hours, as she has a date this evening, though she will not volunteer any details. It has become a bit difficult to have her open up about any of the men whom she is dating lately.

As I approach the passenger door, Joe leans over the center console to open my door and I guess he is exhausted from food shopping all day with the boys from his company. Oh well, he is not as attractive as I initially thought; I guess uniforms do make the man; I really should avoid giving my number out, unless he is dressed in plain clothes. Joe apologized for not parking the car and picking me up at my door, citing the lack of parking in the area. I immediately thought his legs must be broken, as he didn’t walk around to open the car door for me either…well I guess he doesn’t conduct Sonny’s door test .

Once inside SNAFU, we walked to my favorite sofa upstairs, and after sinking in, were greeted by a hot Brazilian waitress. So yes, this Brasileira belonged sunbathing on Ipanema Beach, rather than serving as a waitress in a Manhattan bar, though there was no reason my date should have moved beyond the boundaries of noticing a beautiful woman toward full on flirting! I truly thought he may jump her bones right there on the coffee table. After she took our order, my date proceeded to make an attempt at seducing me…in public…on the sofa! I thought, just because you are part of the F.D.N.Y, not every woman wants to sleep with you…especially after so many disappointments in one evening! Shouldn’t members of the department display only their best behavior, especially following assaults like those by Peter Braunstein and subsequent copycats?

Once Ruby arrived (sans beau), I felt a bit more empowered and exclaimed, “We are leaving NOW”! I turned toward Fire Prick and promised, “If you follow me, I will douse you with water and extinguish the inferno in your pants”! –Frankie

Baffled by Burger Boy

So I realize that there is a recession, but no one has taken me on a date to McDonald’s since middle school, that was until Burger Boy. Burger Boy was very cute. A friend of a friend. He, unfortunately has no taste.

For our first date he picked me up and took me to McDonald’s two blocks away from our apartment. Why on earth would he do that? He’s clueless.

Burger Boy started the date off by telling me about his ex-girlfriends. All of them. Once I heard the 15th– the lesbian turned suicidal and how he wanted to kill himself at one point– I downed the rest of my Diet Coke, thanked him for the fries, and took the rest of my life to go. - Ruby

‘Nuff Said

T-Mobile Voice Mail Message, June 2, 9:21 pm:

“Hey, what’s going on? It’s Adam. You need to come out on Wednesday and DO me even if you don’t want to DO anyone else you need to come out and DO me on Wednesday; so make time, come out and you can meet some of my other friends, its going to be a crazy party. It will be nice and early, close to home…alright? CALL ME.”

-Frankie

Do you like AC/DC?

Have you ever had a New York moment? You know the kind when you are wandering down the street and bump into a total stranger who looks familiar and just start talking. Well that is how I met Bank-guy.

I met Bank-guy at the Bank, by accident. I literally walked into him. So we did the usual “sorry” and then he asked me out. “I can’t let you out of my sight now,” he said. To my surprise I said yes.

Well, after a couple of days Bank-guy took me to Bricco’s up on 56 and 8th. It is this cute and cozy Italian joint. We sat down and he did something that totally turned me off. He asked me what he should order. How am I supposed to know what you are in the mood for? So I ordered for the both of us.

Then he started talking music. “Do you like the band AC/DC? I love AC/DC,” he said. For the next half an hour I learned everything I needed to know about the band, from their first album High Voltage until they became the greatest heavy metal bank of all time.

Then the conversation paused. He took a breath and asked, “Do you like music too? Do you listen to AC/DC?”

“No, but I’ve been AC/DC does that count?” I joked.

“Well AC/DC’s best album…” he rattled on.

So I sat there and listened for a bit. “So what do your friends like to do?” he asked.

“Go AC/DC,” I joked again. “We like to make out, you know, with each other,” I said sarcastically.

No reaction.

“Do you like AC/DC. I like AC/DC.” Then he continued to prattle on about the band.

As we were leaving the restaurant, I thanked him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. I was not Thunderstruck, but he was with his favorite band. This is why New York moments never work out. Strangers are stranger than ever now a days, but the only way to get to know them is to sometimes go to dinner to measure those currents of chemistry.

“Wait a minute. I paid for dinner. You owe me a kiss, a real one, and maybe more,” Bank-guy said.

“Go kiss, AC/DC,” I replied. - Ruby

Eyes Wide…SURPRISED!

Walking down Fifth Avenue I wondered about my FDNY man. We had a few telephone conversations, though never met for a traditional date. Traditional date; what was that again? Speed dating, match.com, Facebook…this virtual method of courtship was a bit overwhelming. This considered, I felt cozy when thinking of our outdated means of courtship and communication…A TELEPHONE CONVERSATION!

Oddly enough, as I pondered my telephone romance, my telephone began to ring. Mmmm…it was Adam.

Frankie: “Hello?”

Adam: [Hopeful excitement in his voice] ”Hey! What are you doing tonight?”

Frankie: “Not too sure, perhaps a chill evening at XR Bar.”

Adam: ”There is this party that I am going to at 7 o’clock on the Upper East Side and you HAVE to come.”

Little did I know how much meaning lay in that last word.

“It is exclusive, invite only and I want you to be my guest. I am bringing my friend Patty, she is smokin’ and I know she would like to meet you…”

Frankie: “Adam, who is hosting this party?”

Adam: “Weeellll, it is a party hosted by a group of…a group of people who meet every so often…and well, fuck. C’mon, you HAVE to let me fuck you in front of this room full of people. You don’t HAVE to fuck anyone else, only me.”

Was he for real?!?!

Frankie: “Are you for real?!?! You mean something along the lines of Eyes Wide Shut? Adam, I can’t let you fuck me in front of a room full of people; orgies are just not my style.”

Adam: “It will be amazing, I guarantee, you will never experience anything like it ever again!”

He obviously never had a pomegranate margarita from Rosa Mexicana!

He was totally serious!

I must admit, though I would not be able to bring myself to have sex with Adam under such circumstances (and now reconsidering having sex with him under any circumstances) I was curious and wanted to simply be a fly on the wall…well, a fly on the wall who was holding a dirty martini, of course.

Frankie: “Thank you for the invitation, though I must decline, perhaps next time. ”

I was taught to always be polite…even when…invited…to…an orgy.

Adam: [Miffed] “Fine, I will go and have amazing sex without you. In fact, I will never have sex with you again if you don’t come out tonight!”

Frankie: I had to stifle a HUGE chuckle, “Aww, baby now you don’t mean that.”

I found this entirely too entertaining and could not resist playing around with him–it isn’t every day that I receive such a wild proposal.

Adam: “There is another party on June 4 and you better meet me there!”

Frankie: [Mockingly] “I want a full report in the morning!”

Adam: [Displeased] “Goodbye!”

–Frankie

A Just Friend and a movie

I hate being alone. Being alone sucks. I’m through with it. Well, that’s what I thought this weekend anyway. So here I was with “Just Friend” seeing about the most absolutely non-romantic movie in the world, “Baby Mama”.

Now I have known “Just Friend” for years. I even roomed with his girlfriend in college. We are like two sides of a peanut butter sandwich, except we are both the peanut butter side and we are both searching for the jelly.

We were having a good time that night catching up everything. We talked about his ex (my old roomie), old friends, and stupid drunken times. Then we got off of the subway and walked into the theater . Everything changed then. It was weird.

Just Friend stepped in front of me in line and ordered “our” tickets to see the movie, but awkwardly, like he wanted really badly to do it. Then Just Friend bought popcorn and a soda and said, “So you are single now, and I am single. That makes us two cats on the prowl.”

LOL or gag myself. I didn’t really know how to react, except I gave him that look. You know the look. Like the WTF look. “Yeah, right. Two cats on the prowl, just like you said.”

Then we walked into the movie and I thought,” Wow. Fantastic timing. So just friend and I grabbed the popcorn, mostly because I love it. I could literally eat it day in and day out, except that it is bad for you. So there I am gorging myself with unbuttered popcorn and in conversation with him about how the price of gas these days is more embarrassing than renting a porn in a hotel, and he puts his arm around me as the movie is starting.

Ew.Ew. Ew. Ew. I almost gagged.

Then and only then I did something that I will never, ever do again. I thought OMG, I don’t want him to think of me in a sexual way EVER, he is Just Friend and he will only ever be Just Friend to me. Then in a truly stupidly spontaneous moment I shoved my entire face into the popcorn bag, started making Cookie Monster noises like “Um, Yum, Um. Me like popcorn.” Then I proceeded to shove my head down into the bag of popcorn.

Just friend withdrew his arm immediately. He looked at me confused and then he started laughing. “OK stop. The movie is starting.”

I wiped my chin with a napkin, and all was well after that between Just Friend and I. -Ruby

Island Fever

Manhattan was really getting to me. Work was tough; I had a few proposals due–ALL of which were aimed toward our most popular annual events. I find my job as an events marketing manager for a posh interior design magazine to be both exiting and educational. Though at times, these people, with whom I must work are more trouble than the men whom I date–DIVA DECORATORS are the worst! I could really use a day away….just one Saturday.

A friend of mine lives in Staten Island; you know, the fifth borough? No, of course you don’t because when discussing New York City, no one really considers Staten Island. It is truly the forgotten borough. Residents are usually sucked into a sheltered world of limited (almost nonexistent) public transportation (one train line?!?) and days spent cruising one of many strip and/or shopping malls. Always one to see the silver lining, I was looking forward to grabbing some excellent penne vodka at Il Pomodoro–my favorite restaurant in the borough.

After dinner with my friend, we visited Danny Boy’s, a tiny Irish bar which draws a much larger crowd than the space should accommodate. Oh yes, the usual cast of characters–off duty N.Y.P.D drowning their aggravation in Heineken or Jager Bombs and then there were barely legal, sweet, young thangs who were so willing and eager to lend the boys…ahem…an ear–”WUNDAHFUL”, I thought. I began to feel terribly for my friend Maria; were these her options? A “buff” (or super cop) bar, where the object of the evening is to decide who can brandish the largest, shiny “pistol”? Now I understand why there is such an influx of B&T (Bridge and Tunnel) folks to the Manhattan bars during the week. Many of my conversations which took place with any men that evening went something like this:

Buff Boy: “Hey, Howya doin’ ?”

Frankie: “Fine, thank you. How are you?”

Buff Boy: “Yea, good, good. My name is [insert any of the following: Mike, Joe, Jimmy or John].

Frankie: “Pleasure, my name is Frances, though you may call me Frankie.”

Buff Boy: “Frankie? But thatsa boys name. Why didn’t cha git named Frannie or Fran? Ah, yea, I guess Frankie’s cool. You have that uh Imma chick, but like, I have a guy’s name thing goin’ on. “

Frankie: “Yes, apparently I do and it seems that I have accomplished my goal of amusing men by taking a traditionally masculine nickname. Please excuse me, I am going to the ladies’ room.”

I didn’t return to continue this conversation and after another failed attempt at conversation by one final member of the Danny Boy’s crowd, Maria and I left to share a plate of cheese fries at The Colonnade Diner, as they are THE CHEESIEST. We discussed that evening’s events and she decided to spend the next month bar hopping with me in Manhattan so that we may recover from the culture shock brought about by this evening. I spent the night at Maria’s and headed out early, as I had to prepare for a presentation early the next morning.

Before boarding the X1bus on my return trip to Manhattan, I decided to stop at the grocery store to stock up on some necessities at much lower prices than those in my neighborhood. Walking up to Shoprite I spotted a large shiny, red fire engine–”Oh my” I thought. See, I love a man in uniform; any uniform really. After my third glass of Hennessy one of those silly cops would have been able to score my number if wearing a uniform. But here, in the middle of Staten Island on a sunny, spring, Sunday afternoon…here they were…F.D.N.Y!! I can not tell a lie–my heart or something, somewhere inside my body fluttered! After taking a deep breath, I entered the store through the automatic doors leading into the produce department–there they were–HEAPS of them!! “Can there be heaps of firefighters?”, I asked myself (I couldn’t help but chuckle aloud when recalling Ruby’s tale of the overzealous dinner date in Little Italy).

Over the bananas and mangoes, I spied a cutie–shaved head, nice build… hey, smiles exchanged and he is…walking away. Oh well, I turn around to measure some grapes and…a tap on my shoulder. Oh, it is him! I notice he has beautiful green eyes. “I couldn’t help notice you gave me a second look. I wanted to come over and introduce myself”, he said, extending his hand. We chatted for a moment; he being polite and not mocking my masculine sounding nickname and I, thinking perhaps Staten Island is not all THAT bad, give the well-mannered firefighter, named Joe, my telephone number. -Frankie

From Limp dick to no dick to dickhead

Last Saturday I met a very attractive man at a bar with Frankie. We were out on the town having dirty martinis at Off the Wagon when this tall, dark and handsome man challenged me to a game of Foosball. I couldn’t resist the competition.

Dickhead, as I will now refer to him, was a UPS delivery guy by day and actor by night. He asked me out to dinner that night and I accepted the invitation.

I spoke with Dickhead a few times on the phone. I met him at a small Italian dive near Mulberry. It wasn’t much of a place, but he chose it claiming it had the best shrimp scampi ever. We sat down at a table in the corner, and there was a soccer game going on at the bar in the front of the restaurant.

I grabbed the menu to see what kind of drinks they had. He grabbed my hand, which at first seemed sweet, and then he stuck it in his mouth and started biting my finger.

“Ouch! What the fuck!” I said.

“Oh, you’re not a dirty girl?” he asked.

“What?” I retorted.

“I want you. I want to have heaps and heaps of sex with you,” he said in all seriousness.

I started laughing. “Are you for real?”

“Yeah,” he looked confused. “That’s what you want too. Right?”

“Heaps and heaps?” I asked, laughing. “Can sex come in heaps and heaps? No, I don’t want heaps and heaps with you. I don’t even know you, yet.”

“But that’s why I asked you here, so maybe after dinner we could get to know each other,” he said raising an eyebrow.

I stood up. “Sorry, as Pink would say, its you and your hand tonight.” I left the restaurant and immediately called Frankie. Where do I meet these guys?– Ruby

May I Suggest a “Word of the Day” Subscription?

Following my Valentine’s Day dating epiphany, I decided a girls’ night out was necessary, so last Friday I called on Nigella, who is one of my partners in crime and headed out with only one mission to accomplish–have a fantastic time sans romantic expectations (the best-laid plans of women and their friends, often go awry). Nigella and I became friends during college and immediately discovered a common bond based on a love of Latin men and affinity for dark sarcasm.

I also invited Ruby, though she had dinner reservations with her new mystery man. They had met recently though she was already walking around with that dopey, new romance grin on her face and I wanted to meet the guy who was responsible for making her smile in that way; however, Ruby was being extremely secretive…perhaps she didn’t want to place a jinx on the relationship at this early stage.

Nigella and I began our evening at the W Hotel, located on Lexington in Midtown. Cosmopolitan in hand, Nigella professed, to me, her love for the bouncer and swore that she would one day marry him…well, at least hook up with, if not marry. He was tall, dark, handsome and well…as protector of the gate, which led to Happy Hour bliss, he was built like a crazy bull; Nigella thought this was incredibly attractive and continued to swoon. I found this entertaining as I sipped a gin and tonic while suggesting Caribbean sites for Nigella’s and ”Raging Bull’s” nuptials.

Suddenly, a young man appeared to my right and asked if he could buy me a drink and we began chatting. He seemed fairly intelligent and creative, as he told me about his career as a chef working in Murray Hill. My conversation with Terry was going well; we laughed, joked and consumed many drinks. And where did Nigella go? Oh, there she is–SCORE! She is flirting with the bouncer.

Terry was about to ask to be excused so he could bum a cigarette outside the bar, though didn’t leave before picking my brain regarding the topic of smoking.

He asked, “Do you smoke?”

“No”, I replied, “Though I did until quitting two years ago.”

He replied, “Oh, are you going to hate me if I leave you here for a moment to get a quick nicotine fix?”

I laughed and said,”No worries, I understand the temptation to smoke when drinking; I won’t castigate you.”

Terry looked at me, with a look of sudden disgust, horror and confusion, turned on his heel, left me sitting at the bar, and never returned. I didn’t understand; what was his problem?? Was it something I said…oh yes, it must have been. I suddenly realized he didn’t recognize the word castigate, as in to scold severely…he interpreted the comment as “No worries, I understand the temptation to smoke when drinking; I won’t CASTRATE you.”

Yes, intelligent indeed.–Frankie

Dating is hard;dating in NYC is harder

Dating is hard, and dating in New York City is harder. The reason: no one actually dates in NYC. It’s more like auditioning for a Broadway show or a television series.

I think of dating as kind of an innocent thing, where two people meet and they go out to dinner and decide if they like each other and try it again before something more blooms. That kind of dating, I only see in romantic comedies staring Tom Hanks, Meg Ryan, Renee Zellwiger or Colin Firth.

My fling with Elizabeth was no exception. It was fun and fast. We did things that I never thought about. It was surreal. She was very strong and very appealing. I couldn’t believe how much I liked being with this beautiful woman. She liked to push me up against walls and kiss me or we would make out in Victoria’s secret dressing rooms, while trying on underwear. But the romance was short lived. She wanted a serious relationship and there was no way I was going to make that sort of commitment with a woman I had just met. Plus, I felt kind of funny about being with a woman at all. I felt like I had a big old scarlet letter L on my forehead and any minute rocks may be thrown at me.

The way I felt wasn’t right, but it was just the way it was. I felt some sort of self hatred. I really loved being around Elizabeth the few days we were together, but at the same time I hated that we couldn’t walk down the street hand and hand without guys gawking at us and screaming, “You two are together!? Awesome. Can I watch? You want a threesome?”

It was humiliating and I felt weird telling Frankie that I was seeing a girl too. So when she asked about this mystery date for Valentine’s Day I used pronouns such as “they” and”we” in order to keep her from knowing too much. God, what would my family say if they knew?! I didn’t even want to go there.

Elizabeth and I went to Zen in Union Square. We had a great dinner, purely vegetarian. After a few drinks, we both decided that it would be best if we remained friends because she wanted a relationship with another lesbian and I didn’t know what I wanted. So like at the end of an Ally McBeal episode we parted amicably and I walked home underneath the street lights, in my own solace, happily single. -Ruby

Secret Agent Stoopid

A few years ago, I introduced my friends Sascha and Derek; now, Sascha feels a need to return the favor by setting me up with her colleague. Though I know I was successful in my matchmaking and she is happy with Derek, Sascha enjoys vicarious thrills courtesy of my experience on Manhattan’s dating scene. Dense Brosnan was a candidate for the C.I.A and though he would have made Jessica Simpson seem like a Rhodes Scholar, he did have 8-pack abs and a sweet new B.M.W. This man was not really someone who I would ever consider dating seriously, though what harm could there be in having dinner? Plus, I had to do it for my friend; she was curious to discover whether all that packaging could deliver or if it was just for show.

I agreed to let D.B. take me out one Thursday evening; correction, THE most romantic Thursday evening of 2008-Valentine’s Day. Thursday is a good first date night, as many people are out and about on payday and the possibilities are limitless. If the date is amazing you could stay out all night, go to work Friday, and then recover on Saturday. If you are hoping to hear someone yell, “FIRE!!”, from the kitchen by the time appetizers arrive, you may then just call it an early evening citing your need for at least eight full hours of sleep on school nights. We arrived at Josie’s, a cute place in Murray Hill, which caters to the healthy set. All this man-child cared to discuss was his favorite person…D.B. How he attended Rutgers, though didn’t fare well academically due to his dedication to extracurricular activities, i.e. supporting women’s rights (to move into his bedroom) and Chemistry Club (discovering which liquors mix best to produce the best shots). Don’t get me wrong, I have enjoyed many late night games of Asshole, though, I didn’t major in Strategies to Acquire the Golden Beerpong Ball and Plastic Cup Trophy either. Oh my, his shirt did complement his pecs so nicely. Yes, fine, his pecs…and biceps…and ass were all tight and healthy; though every time he opened his mouth I wanted to fill it with a steamed organic Belgian potato & broccoli dumpling! He must have thought I was entirely too generous with my appetizer, though truthfully, I couldn’t stand listening to his insipid tales of debauchery from college and wrestling pseudo-presidential-attackers to the ground from the academy.

After dinner, we made our way to Snafu, which is a bar I frequented with friends during college and though I no longer spend many evenings there, I still return occasionally for happy hour. Though I passed by the bouncer without a problem, D.B. was stopped and asked for identification. I noticed a New Jersey license sitting conveniently inside a photo pocket, though D.B, of course, HAD to fish for and then, after a good two minutes, produce his MIGHTY AGENT I.D. I believe it was Shania Twain who once said, “So you’re a C.I.A. probie…That don’t impress me much…”-Oh no, that was MY LINE! D.B. and I sat on a sofa in a dark corner upstairs overlooking the bar area. He began kissing my neck and nibbling on my ear, “Damn”, I thought, “that feels amazing”. Somewhere between Dirty Martini #2 and breathtaking kiss #3, I realized D.B. lacked in conversational skills what LimpDick lacked in sexual prowess. From what Ruby and I had discussed, LimpDick was her intellectual equal, though she could no longer be the sensual instructor to his dunce of seduction. I sat here with Secret Agent Dodo, enjoying an electrifying, passionate kiss and when we stopped I wondered if Ruby and I would have to choose between sexual and intellectual satisfaction?? Oh good grief, if that is the case, then I will never settle down…such a dilemma is one that I should not have to consider…I want it all damn it!!!!!!!! Furthermore, I DESERVE IT ALL!!!! I finished my drink, savored the olives soaked in Grey Goose and asked D.B. to drive me home…it was, after all, a school night.–Frankie

The Break up; the hook up

Yes, I dumped him. I’m evil. I know it. I did it by text message. He was trying to convince me to stay. He said that sex wasn’t that important. Not important! I was like a freakin’ virgin, and a stressed out crazed lunatic. Yes, I was.

Last Saturday night I went out with some of my friends. It was my friend Cindy’s birthday, who I have known since high school. Cindy happens to be a lesbian so logically we went to a to a lesbian bar called Henrietta Hudsons. Henrietta Hudsons or “Hens” is a rocker chick bar on Hudson, not too far from where Frankie and I live in Chelsea. On Saturday nights Hens can get pretty wild and packed.

I was buying my friend Cindy a dance from a go-go dancer (who was dancing on the bar) when out of nowhere this attractive girl with a blond boycut offered to buy me a beer.

“Thanks, but that I have a boyfriend,” I said.

“It’s ok. I’m not here with anyone, and you have a friendly face. Come on. Let me buy you one,”she said.

“All right, it’s up to you. What’s your name?” I asked.

“Elizabeth. Yours?”

“Ruby.”

Elizabeth is 29 and an investment banker. She had recently broken up with her girlfriend because her girlfriend was cheating on her. She was having a hard time meeting Ms. Right. I was having a hard time not finding her attractive and the fact that she looked very similar to a pretty boy did not help matters. I kept silently reminding myself that I had plans to meet Limp dick early on Sunday and was not into girls. Cindy knew better and pulled me over to the side.

“Hey,” said Cindy. “So you’re doing pretty well, Ms. Chatty. Do you miss it? She’s cute. “

“Cin. I haven’t been with a girl since you in high school. Seriously, I don’t know. She is cute though.”

“Ruby, you’re not that into Limp dick so why not? You want to end things anyway. Right?” Cindy asked.

“I guess. I don’t know.”

Well, as you’ve probably guessed I did wind up hooking up with Elizabeth. It was fantastic. The next morning I sent Limp dick a text message: It’s been fun, but I want more. Goodbye. -Ruby

Obviously For Some…Just Not Hard Enough

Two weeks before Valentine’s Day…though I am not really all too excited. I am viewing it as just another day. Well, I guess that’s because I am single. How cliche, you might think, but I swear I’ve got my reasons. Last year I had a boyfriend and was living in a foreign city.

I’m not having much luck in New York so I think that if dating in New York fails that perhaps next year I will try being single while living abroad. Eh, screw it, I have truly found that men are the same around the world; only the scenery changes. Bright sunshine, warm weather, and tan skin just seem to make a bad situation more bearable.

Last year, I had a bit of affection and not much sex…ok, I can’t lie…no sex. I could count on one hand how many times I was laid over a five month period. Strangely enough, this V-day, though I am not expecting flowers, dinner, or seeing a film…though I am looking forward to a crazy evening of lustful bliss. Say what you may, but fuck buddies are in.

I met Adam a few years ago and he was my first and only Internet dating experience. We went out for drinks one evening and decided there was definitely an attraction, though we were totally incompatible for anything other than a sexual relationship. Quite simply we had great sex and have kept it that way for the past few years and what a great way to see the city from so many different boardrooms, rooftops, boiler rooms…You get the picture?

Plus, if I continue calling on Adam when I am not involved exclusively with anyone, I don’t worry about sleeping around. My principles aren’t compromised and I am completely satisfied. What a wonderful world! When involved in a relationship, I am quite a loyal girlfriend. Though when single in this city, it can’t hurt to call in the reserves, when necessary.

I am still reflecting on Adam’s and my latest “date” when I walk into my apartment, which I share with Ruby, who is in the bathtub buried beneath a mountain of bubbles and on her way to the finish line at the bottom of yet another Ben and Jerry’s pint.

The poor girl is considering breaking up with a boy…er…man…whom I have blessed with the moniker–Limpdick. Poor Ruby…I would love to tell her about my latest “date” at The Lincoln Building…the beautiful view from his office on the 52nd floor is enough to get me hot and bothered…and…mmm…I must say…the man is talented …WAIT! FOCUS!

“Ruby”, I say, “ice cream and the hot bubble bath are great…though we both know his soft serve is not your flavor”, as I scoop another mouthful of Chunky Monkey from the pint, “no matter the topping, he will never satisfy you”.-Frankie

Dating is hard enough, but dating in NYC is harder

It is two weeks before Valentine’s Day, quite possibly the most miserable day of all. No, ironically enough I’m not single, but I’m considering being single.

It wasn’t that long ago that I was. Only six months, but I’m down to my last pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey, I swear ( I’ve eaten about 20 in the past month and a half). As I sit in a steamy hot bubble bath (the perfect place to eat ice cream during the winter), I’m wondering how this happened to me, why I always meet the wrong men, and if there is something wrong with me.

So this guy…what can I tell you? My roommate, Frankie and I call him limp dick, because its rather true.

Limp Dick and I met over drinks and appetizers at House during a work venue. I work in publishing where everything is quite incestuous, but I had never seen him before. Now we’ve been seriously dating for six months. Six months is kind of a deadline. It’s either stay or go. It’s either going to work out or it isn’t. And even though after six months, he has been the perfect gentleman and does everything right socially, I’m really considering dropping this relationship because sex is that bad.

Seriously, I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, but it’s definitely his issue. I’m not a nympho or anything, but come on! We are dating; I’ve got blood pumping! He was perfect, except for sex or the lack of thereof. Seriously, the other day I greeted him at the door of the apartment in black high heels and a black silk thong, and the man thought I just got out of the shower and told me he would come back in ten minutes. Really! So he’s 28 and impotent, super Catholic, or in the closet.

Limp dick was never really into sex. When we first started fooling around he wanted to “slow down”. We laughed, we talked, and we became great friends. The first time he froze up. He just hung there like meat in a freezer. I tried a few um things… the usual. Its never failed before, but he might as well have yawned. So I decided to spice it up. I bought porn, I bought sex toys (that I wound up using on myself), underwear. Nothing worked. He wouldn’t go down on me because he didn’t understand the workings of a woman’s “yoo-hoo”. So I got him a book. It was quite mechanical. In; out. In; out.

So I told my roommate, Frankie.

“Dump him,” she said. “Not worth the trouble. Damn, that was a waste of six months,” she added.

“You’re right,” I said. “I’ve had better sex with women. I don’t need this,” I added.

Well, that was two weeks ago and here I am in the bathtub with Chunky Monkey dripping down my chin and into my bubbly bath water.

“Damn, Ruby. It’s steamy in here. Oh, yeah, it’s decision time is it. Six months. So dump him babe,” Frankie said as she walked into the bathroom and sat down on the toilet.

“I know. But what if I never meet anyone,” I said.

We both laughed.

“Oh Chaquita banana, you know that ain’t happening,” Frankie said grabbing the spoon from my ice cream and shoving a spoonful into her mouth.–Ruby